MusFic Project: Postal Service We Will Become Silhouettes
by terrapin01
Summary: MusFic - Turning the lyrics of a song into a story. Regrettably not a category on PS:WWBS: A young man takes refuge after nuclear war envelopes the world. This is my first MusFic(Well THE first MusFic), I'm really only doing this to practice for my super long MusFic on 'Still Alive' by Jonathan Coulton. Still it's pretty good so far.
1. I've got a cupboard with cans of food

**PS:WWBS:I've got a cupboard with cans of food, filtered water...**

* * *

_So the end-times have finally come. _Harold almost chuckled to himself. His father spent his entire life preparing for the inevitable eradication of all humanity. It wasn't the paranoia of a madman, it was a madman wishing for something intriguing in his life. Something bigger than he could make on his own. So Harold grew up with a father that, instead of taking him to play sports, instructed him in the art of swordplay, martial arts, as well as a number of dances in the case if there was ever the music playing, he was to sweep the nearest girl his own age off her feet and dance with her. His brain simply hadn't lived in reality, but his occupation as a writer did let him stretch those bounds more than the average person could.

Harold's mother had found the thin man's boyish notions charming. In fact they met when a street musician had been playing and he swept her off her feet and they danced off to sit by the grassy banks of the river, watching the fireflies dance about on the edge of town. When most parents told their children how they met, it usually turned out quite strange from the awkwardness or the sheer mundanity of the event. Harold's own parents had a story that made you listen to it as intently as you would read a novel that tugged at your heartstrings. Those were his parents, two seemingly contrived but altogether real characters who had leapt from stories into real life. It had been several years, but he felt even more alone now.

The attacks had begun at an unknown time. Missiles launched at small towns from undisclosed locations, from where suspicion of everyone by everyone escalated into a nuclear war. The United States immediately blamed North Korea, who insisted on their innocence, not that it really mattered at this point. China had been a little faster to react launching a preemptive strike and faster than his father could quote Pratchett, every nation had decided "Today Is A Good Day For Someone Else To Die!". The fact that all governments decided that the consequences be damned and go ahead and fire was a good idea came to the precious few who were then smoking craters in the ground.

Harold shook his head at those memories as he took inventory of the food in the basement. Naturally with his father's training the world collapsing didn't seem like to big a deal. In accordance with the emergency plans his family had set up, he headed to the basement to wait. Stocked which he had been forbidden to read, so he wouldn't have to re-read any books as well as a television. Occasionally turning it on to watch for news on the halting of nuclear weapon usage. Unlike his father, he'd become jaded to these events instead of expecting them. _Soon enough it will blow over._ he told himself _Soon enough._


	2. And pictures of you

**PS:WWBS: ...And pictures of you**

* * *

Harold rolled over on the small couch. His father had been a good author, but not a revolutionary. He peered through the darkness and saw the faint outline of a picture frame on a shelf. It was too dark to see the photo, but Harold had gazed at it long enough to know what the picture showed. Diana Lannu. It brought a tear to his eye. Just one. He drifted into a dream of a memory.

"I don't know who you are, but you look absolutely ravishing my dear." Those were Harold's first words to her. Even without his rather peculiar upbringing, he thought he would have said it to her. There had been a slight pause before she gathered her wits to respond. She'd been listening to some story her friend had been telling her, but social etiquette was not something he'd been shown by either of his parents who could be described as free spirits.

"E-excuse me?" She'd stammered out at first. If you look carefully, or even rather overtly, you can find that society has a strange stigma against talking to strangers, perhaps reminiscent of our younger years when our parents warned us. Only the well known faces would ever be routinely approached by strangers.

"Well, there I was deciding to take a different route to class and as I was walking I spotted a girl wearing the loveliest white stripes and I said to myself 'I wonder if she is as wonderful as she looks!' so I strolled on over here to have a chat with you." Harold's face was in a contagious smile. Her friend seemed to want to wipe it off his face.

"Who are you? Do you just walk up to strangers and start talking to them like that?" Harold chuckled

"Well apparently I do! It's a great way to meet great people!" he bowed awkwardly with his backpack "I am Harold WARTHROP, the WARTHROP is a convenient acronym for William-Armstrong-Ryuk-Thor-Hohenheim-Rintaro-Okab e-Pinako, which in turn stands for a much much longer string of names I shall spare you the horror of sitting through, though a fun fact is that the Y in Ryuk stands for Yog-Sothoth. I find that bit to be particularly interesting." The two girls had stared at him momentarily, unsure of what to say.

"My name is Dianna Lannu. I guess it's nice to meet you Harold."

"Well I know it's a pleasure to meet you!" And so despite the world and Dianna's friend the two became companions. So long ago it seemed, though only a few years now. His eyes lazily drifted open from the haze of sleep. He felt the impending sense of doom in the air, as the earth rocked under the nuclear barrage. He heard Dianna's face shake off the shelf, falling into a painful pile of glass with the soft tingle of shards crunching.


	3. Im not coming out until this is all over

**PS:WWBS:I'm not coming out until this is all over.**

* * *

Shattered glass and darkness. Harold wondered why he'd yet to experience any fear at all, the experience seemed so hollow without the destruction intoning the essence of terror into his soul. Instead he got up and punched the countdown timer. A lot could happen in four weeks, but he knew nothing would.

The bookshelves were filled with books of all sorts, textbooks, survival guides, fictions, cookbooks and so on. He picked up an old faded book. It looked as if it already had been through the apocalypse and had been personally used to beat down the Four Horsemen. The spine was softer than that of an invertebrate and the pages looked more weathered than the Voynich manuscript, although in fairness it had been treated well over the years.

He read the tale, immediately analyzing the beginning as an 'In Media Res'/'How We Got Here' style of flashback. It seemed impossible to read a story without picking out the bones, however the skeleton was just as beautiful as the flesh. 'Feral Child' and 'Man Child' blended together, creating a memorable character, with a chaotically vicious demeanor. Due to the acting characters dearth of dialogue, it primarily focused on the others reactions to the not-quite-human. A romance thankfully void of the 'UTS' building up and then 'Book Ends'.

Harold sat for a while. It was one of those stories that made you feel empty once you finished it. The feeling was one that was satisfying, for only the greatest of tales evoked it and yet one loved the story so much, a continuation was longed for. However he remembered a time when he'd felt the feeling and as it turned out there was a sequel. However it was hardly the magnum opus of its predecessor and Harold had been thoroughly disappointed.

His motivation slowed somewhat after that. He ate and he slept but not much else measured up to that book.

"There's not much to do now is there?" he asked himself. "I wonder what I will do for the next several weeks."


	4. I am looking through the glass

**And I am Looking Through the Glass**

* * *

Harold pressed his face against the door. He knew he shouldn't open it yet, even though there was another door down the short hallway. It was solid lead, giving no view outside the small room. His ear pressed against the barrier, he listened to the silence of the outside.

"Wow Cage. I didn't realize you were still alive. Is that 4'33" on the drums or on the guitar? Its good either way."

He wondered what it looked like outside, wondering if the artistic depictions of nuclear wastelands had been at all accurate. Harold wondered how this story would play out, if there was a happy ending for the protagonist of the tale. He knew it was too early and he shouldn't but the worst thing that could happen was death and he didn't mind. Pushing the door open, Harold peeked his head into true hallway.

It was an anticlimax at least. The hall remained intact, as did the door at the other end of the hallway. A shaft of light shimmered illuminating the small window. The hallway had been left so still that note even a more of dust crossed the light's path. An undisturbed tomb, Harold approached the second door.


	5. Where the light bends at the cracks

**PS:WWBS:Where the Light Bends at the Cracks**

* * *

Harold looked at the tiniest rainbow formed by the cracked glass. He ran his hand over the splintered crystal, pressing his face against it. There was the softest sound of the glass shifting, like the sound of compacting snow on a cold, sunny day. He looked out into the armageddon, rubble covered most of the stair up. His life was in danger, simply being so close to the outside.

He resisted the urge and walked back behind the closed doors. It had to be his imagination, but Harold felt tingly all over. Feeling pins and needles didn't even make sense as a symptom of radiation. He sat down, unreasonably lethargic. His father had told stories of the feeling, the desire to do something outside the ordinary boundaries but always just going on with your normal life. His whole family tried to push the envelope of free will, trying to see how much they could convince themselves to do. To keep from falling into a regular life was the goal. What a far cry from normal he was at now.

He could sleep forever in the timelessness of the cavern that was the basement.

He sat with Diana in a rather quaint little bistro. As all of their fellows attended the movies, Harold and Diana were within the movie. He painted with watercolors, as she sat still across from him under a pastel parasol. She fidgeted ever so slightly, but Harold was not the best of artists, so it made no difference. They chatted and laughed as they ate, the adults there gave looks and soft friendly smiles, trying to remember if they had ever had an days so idealistic.

The others of their age did not see time in quite the same way. The socialites of their school came walking down the street, having finished their movie. It was always amusing to see them try to mock him, he was so surreal there was simply no attacking him. It was like trying to win a game of checkers by declaring checkmate.

"Hey Diana, having a date with the Gentlemanly Madman?" Joel chuckled. "And he convinced you to get into that getup? You really shouldn't hang out with him, unless you want to be in an asylum too one day."

"I shall not have you impugn my lady's honour!" He declared and Diana chuckled. Joel raised a confused eyebrow, apparently unaware of the gentlemanly conduct of the 19th century. Or so Harold guessed, there wasn't exactly any certain place to research such things.

"What are you rambling on about?" he wagged his paintbrush in Joel's face.

"I say, you cannot insult a lady in that manner! If you have quarrel with me, say so." Harold swiped a slash of light blue upon his nose. Joel batted at his nose and his friends could only ever act as onlookers in such a strange situation. Sweeping up his easel and paints, he called out.

"Waiter, check please!" The waiter was still rather young and seemed entertained by the even younger boy's attitude. He played along, if only for a moment, joining into the script.

"Here you are, Sir." After Harold paid the bill, with a substantial tip, he took Diana by the arm and left the establishment. "May you and your lady have a fine evening on the town." he called after them with a slight bow and a booming smile.

Harold drifted awake, with the memory seeping back into the dregs of his consciousness. He wished for people to join in the merry dance of life as the waiter did. He wished to spend time again with Diana. He wished he could do more than wishing nowadays.


	6. And Im screaming at the top of my lungs

**PS:WWBS:And I'm screaming at the top of my lungs**

* * *

"You know, I thought that I could handle isolationism better than this."

"That is true. I wonder if I should lapse into the third person."

"I need to calm down."

Talking aloud seemed to relieve some of the stress on his mind, it let him act out the characters inside of him. Everyone had a bit of a split personality, but it ran strong in the WARTHROP family in particular. Debating with himself seemed to make congeal his beliefs into something more coherent, however it was more like thinking aloud with a critical eye than devolving into Smeagol.

"I think we should do it."

So here was the madness. It wasn't all too bad now that he looked at it.

_"i dont see why we even care all that much anymore..."_

"Well I personally can't say that I'm enjoying this."

**"BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T LEARNED TO _LIVE_ YET!"**

****"I can't believe I now have a split personality with a ham."

_"weve not much choice in the matter"_

"No I suppose not."

Harold needed to reign himself together in an almost literal sense. While _harold_ seemed rather apathetic, **HAROLD** seemed to be the biggest problem of all. He delivered many a spiel on adventuring the outside world, and HAROLD agreed. Thankfully the Laodicean attitude of _harold _kept his body from moving. Harold lay down on the couch once more wondering where everything had gone wrong.

"REMINISCING. SUCH A LOVELY THING." HAROLD murmured as the personalities drifted to sleep.


End file.
